


The Minor Fall The Major Lift

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bruises, Caring Aragorn, Concerned Aragorn, Elvish Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Faramir, M/M, Nothing explicit, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-War of the Ring, Stubborn Faramir, The rape is not between main characters, Warnings Just To Be Sure, don't fret, i had a vision, i had to write it, it's very minor, kinda domestic, mentioned in passing - Freeform, no beta we typo like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: I would look pathetic to anyone intruding upon us - the King of Gondor on his knees, begging his steward to be allowed to help - but I couldn't bring myself to care. His well-being was always first on my mind, whether on the battlefield or in the safety of the Citadel, and it was especially true when he was freshly out of a battlefield and back inside the Citadel.In which Aragorn heals Faramir in the softest way possible.Spoiler: the rape part is not explicit, only alluded to, and it's mostly the aftermath of Faramir being held as a prisoner. This is not a fic dealing with the aftermath or a long recovery, it's just a snippet of time in their lives.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	The Minor Fall The Major Lift

**Author's Note:**

> While there was no beta, MermaidSheenaz pinked all over it, for which I'm very grateful! <3 
> 
> Enjoy!

So quiet. The House of Remedies was so quiet. I hated it. I hated it because a great offense had been done and there was nobody to  _ care. _ I looked around and there were no healers, no nurses, no maids,  _ nobody. _ I did not know if they'd left for a late lunch or to do some great deeds - and I hoped it was the latter! - but there was  _ nobody there.  _

_ Just as well, _ I thought after a moment, walking slowly to his bed. Faramir was lying in it, almost half-sitting up, as if waiting to get out. He refused to be confined to the bed, he refused to be chained by invisible ties. He wanted  _ out, _ and he wanted out  _ now, _ without regard as to his own state. There were bruises on him, visible even when he was dressed in a set of plain shirt and leggings, dark shadows slithering out from behind the sensible line of the ordinarily shaped, wide collar. 

And, oh Eru, how I  _ loved  _ him! 

Of course, his stubbornness was not the only reason, just one of many - his perseverance was famous, and in some cases, in moments such as that one, it was plain and simple that he was going to get his way or no way at all.

Briskly, I walked to him, hating the way his eyes seemed pained. It was clear that he was hurting, and I knew it to be true. With bruises such as those, imprinted deep into his flesh, there was no way he wouldn’t be in pain. And yet, he resisted any attempts at help bestowed by the healers. He not only resisted them, but actively pushed them away, stating that he is _fine,_ as if it was a message for the Valar themselves - not a prayer but an order. 

“You need help,” I stated, hoping to make him see reason. He frowned at me, looking up with his eyes so blue, so damn  _ tender, _ that I couldn’t help but fall to my knees next to the bed. I had my fingers wound around his wrists before any conscious thought of doing so registered in my brain.    
“I am fine.” Stubborn. A warrior.    
“No. You are wounded, Faramir,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. I knew it would be shaky, seeing him hurt always did that to me. “If you don’t want the healers to interfere, then let me help at least!” And there was desperation in my voice, the urgency of it making him wince slightly.    
“There are duties-”   
“No.” And I shook my head so fiercely I went dizzy for a short while. 

He looked at me contemplatively, probably piecing together my pleading expression and the strength of my hands clinging to his. I would look pathetic to anyone intruding upon us - the King of Gondor on his knees, begging his steward to be allowed to help - but I couldn't bring myself to care. His well-being was always first on my mind, whether on the battlefield or in the safety of the Citadel, and it was especially true when he was freshly out of a battlefield  _ and _ back inside the Citadel. 

Well… Battlefield was not a good description of it, but then again, so wasn’t a  _ dungeon.  _ Those were small, dingy quarters where people were held mostly so that they could die slowly. Faramir hadn’t been held to die, no - he had been held for a ransom. A ransom I had refused to pay, and instead, had chosen to go and collect my prince with the whole army in tow. The Northernlings hadn’t been aware of what exactly they had played with and, when the dust had settled among their meager campsite,  they had given Faramir up willingly, just so that I would put down Anduril. I hadn’t, and, after the prince had been safely tucked away behind our lines, I had slayed each and every one of them. It had not been my proudest moment, but - after I had glimpsed Faramir’s injuries - I had wanted to go back and bring them to life once more, just so that I could kill them again.  _ Nobody touches this king’s lover and lives to tell the tale, _ I thought grimly.

So here we were, in the Houses of Healing, in the eastern ward, staring at each other, until Faramir finally sighed, defeated.    
“Alright.” 

And it was all it took, for I nearly scooped him up in my arms to carry him all the way back to our chambers. Yes,  _ nearly, _ because he had halted me with one hand and - slowly and with a series of pained grunts - stood up and made his way to the royal wing. 

-&-

The night had already fallen by the time we were in the bedchambers. Faramir had wanted to take a bath and, seeing all the grime, and blood, and dust clinging to him, I hadn’t had it in me to deny him. He had also stated that he would not need any help, so I had hovered at the doorway, trying to at least conjure enough energy to reach him somehow. I had always been bad at most of Elven magic, though, so after ten minutes of useless staring at the corner of the bathtub - the only part of it that was visible - I had wandered away to pile some more blankets on our bed. 

When Faramir emerged from the bathing room - wrapped only in a simple sleeping shirt - I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, having changed into my own set of underclothes. I looked up and took in his posture, the determined stiffness of his shoulders as he made his way over slowly. It was clear,  _ so clear, _ that every step hurt him, but he pressed on stubbornly, his jaw squared and his eyes stormy. His bare feet looked so fragile on the flagstones that I winced, moving over and making room for him to just collapse between soft sheets if he needed to do so. But Faramir endured, slowly walking forward, until he could sit and then lie down calmly, curling up on his side, eyes fluttering closed. 

With his head resting on the pillow, freshly washed hair cascading over it in unruly curls, Faramir looked like an ancient being, something out of long-forgotten tales whispered on slow evenings in Imladris’ halls. His skin, peeking out from the gaps in the shirt, haphazardly tied as it was, was covered in bruises and cuts, and my hands itched to be placed there.  This bit of Elvish magic I did possess, the healing power that made my palms hot and my fingers tingling. 

Carefully, lying face-to-face with him, I reached out and placed my hand on his cheek. The light touch startled Faramir, and his eyes opened, blinking up at me in question. There was a frown on his forehead, and my thumb traveled there to smooth it out, hoping to soothe any worry that he might have had. It was true that I knew very little of what had happened to him at the hands of his captors, but swollen flesh and painful bruises were a testament to at least a severe beating.    
“You said you’d let me help,” I reminded him quietly, and watched as he gave a hesitant nod. 

There was barely any light around us, just the meager glow of a few small candles burning on the bedside table, but I didn’t need too much to see the damage done to him. I feared that, had it been any brighter in the bedchamber, I would have broken down and cried.   
“I’m fine,” he gritted out when I pulled the collar of his shirt aside, revealing a long bruise starting at the nape of his neck and flowing down his shoulder, just to curve at the top of his chest. Without a comment, I fitted my hand gently over it, pressing my warm palm into the damaged flesh, closing my eyes and letting years of Elrond’s schooling take over. 

It took a moment, but with the ancient magic flowing through my body and into his, I managed to heal the nasty bruise. He didn’t say anything, just rested on his side, eyes half-closed and looking at me passively. It reminded me of the way he had watched me a few weeks earlier, splayed on the green grass in the little garden behind Merethrond, basking in the sunlight as I had tried to teach Brego a new trick. I hadn’t gotten anywhere with that stubborn horse, but I had succeeded at making Faramir laugh quietly a few times. The look he had had in that moment, his silent love radiating from him, had been the exact same he was giving me now. With my heart squeezing curiously inside my chest, I moved my hand, finding another bruise high on his upper arm, healing that also. Soon, I was tugging on the laces on the front of his nightshirt, undoing them carefully, getting undisturbed access to his body.

My other hand was unoccupied, and I slid it under Faramir’s cheek, cushioning it against the already soft pillow. He hummed at that, or maybe it was a reaction to my hand ghosting along his ribs, I knew not. But, he nuzzled into my palm a moment later, his features tightening when the healing energy brought on a bit of pain. It happened sometimes, and couldn’t be avoided - mending broken flesh could hurt slightly, but it was nothing compared to the way his bruises must have been acquired. 

Sighing softly, I let our foreheads meet, closing my eyes and focusing on controlling the magic within me, hoping to be as gentle as possible. 

When all the cuts I could see were mended, I let myself run my thumb carefully over the valleys between his ribs, feeling the muscles beneath twitch and shift.    
“Where else?” I asked, my voice just a murmur. I know there was more to heal, it was clear by his frown that not everything was alright yet. His lips twisted downwards for a moment, before his hand moved and I felt his fingers wrapping around my wrist. He led my hand behind, placing it high in the middle of his back, leaving it there to do what I had to. I felt around the tender flesh, mapping out the slight swell of injured muscles, then set to work quickly. This one must have hurt him more, for he whined quietly, biting his lip as if he could stop the sound from escaping. I couldn’t care less if he screamed or shouted, not when he was hurt, so I leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, soothingly letting him know it was alright. He remained stubbornly biting his lip, though, and I went back to my task of mending him. 

Two more bruises, my hand being led blindly around him, before I arrived at his thigh. There was a cut there, running across the upper part of it, shallow and - thankfully - already healing. It wouldn’t hurt to add my own powers to the process, however, so I spent some time doing that, too. 

Seemingly done, I looked at Faramir, but the frown was still there, even more prominent now. He kept his eyes cast down, staring at some imagined spot between us, and  I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him look so out of place - certainly not in our bed! I nudged his nose with mine gently, my hand still pressed to his thigh. I could feel exhaustion pulling at me, just as it always did after a bout of such an extensive healing session. Something was clearly still wrong, and I wanted to find out what, before my own tired body demanded to be heard. 

“Where?” I whispered softly, watching as his jaw tensed and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a longer moment, but he finally moved, leading my hand behind him once more, settling it on his backside and leaving it there. His throat clicked when he swallowed, and I felt my heart shattering when the understanding dawned on me. 

At a loss of words, feeling rage raising in me uncontrollably, I gritted my teeth and took a few calming breaths. It wouldn’t do to overreact like that, it was not what Faramir needed, not now.   
“I could get one of the healers, if you wish…” I proposed quietly, already aware what his answer would be. Predictably, he shook his head slightly in denial.   
“No,” he muttered. “Only you. I couldn’t…” and he heaved in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. “I don’t think there’s any bleeding still, but-” he broke off, and I didn’t need him to go further. He seemed at a loss of words, such an uncharacteristic thing for my Faramir. During the Council meetings, he was often silent, but it wasn’t out of the lack of words, but because he didn’t deem the discussion interesting enough to intervene. 

Softly, I placed another kiss on his mouth, an acceptance and a caress at the same time, hoping to calm him down further as I moved my hand gently. The rage inside me ebbed away, but the fire it had left behind was still glowing, and I used it to summon all the energy I could. With gentle fingers, trying to be as careful as I could, I healed him swiftly, wrapping him tighter in the bedcovers once I was done. He remained silent through it all, and I longed to know what was happening inside his head. Such wounds - a crime even in the battlefield - were not an easy thing to deal with. I would be there, whatever he wished of me. I could talk or listen, touch or stay away, although that would pain me greatly.  _ It doesn’t matter, _ I thought, watching his sleepy expression,  _ whatever Faramir needs, he shall have.  _

“How do you feel?” I asked, once I blew out the candles and settled in front of him again. He was silent for a while, before he murmured his answer, the air leaving him fanning over my neck.    
“Tired.  _ Angry.” _ He let on, shifting, wriggling closer tentatively, as if he was afraid the wounds would open anew.    
“Tell me how to help,” I requested, but he just huffed, slinging an arm around my waist and pressing closer still, hiding his face in my shoulder.    
“You already did. You  _ are. _ Just… Stay here? Please?”    
“Dear heart,” I whispered, gathering him in my arms and keeping him against me. “All of Eomer’s horses wouldn’t drag me away from you.” 

He chuckled at that, humming contentedly, the picture of eudaemonia. It was almost suspicious, and it was hard for me to let it rest.    
“I worry,” I said, my voice low, in case he was already falling asleep.    
“I’m not broken, Aragorn,” he answered, surprisingly lucid for the way his breathing was evening out.    
“I know. I just… I do not wish you being hurt. Especially...” I broke off, my throat tightening.    
“Then heal me,” he mumbled. “Hold me and heal me.” 

And I did. 


End file.
